Fever
by gin and ironic
Summary: Drongar is death, biding its time. Some slash.


Title: Fever  
Author: Gin (ginandironic)  
Pairing: Mace/Obi-Wan  
Rating: PG-13/R?  
Summary: Drongar is death, biding its time. Some slash.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters created by George Lucas and make no profit from using them in my fan fiction.  
Notes: Written for the Star Wars Fuh-Q-Fest, scenario 71. Her/His room (chambers?) are temporarily unavailable, s/he has to share for a while. Character assigned was Obi-Wan. Thank you to Jaxmarie for the beta. Hey, would any of you believe that this was originally intended to be an Obi-Wan/Anakin crackfic?

The ground was marshy, hard to walk on and filled with quicksand-like spots that could suck someone in knee-deep if they weren't careful. Obi-Wan's boots were taking the brunt of it, though his trousers were also damp and stained. Dragging a hand across his face, Obi-Wan tried to wipe off film the sticky, dense air left on his skin. It was pointless; all actions of comfort were, when pitted against the constantly humid atmosphere.

Drongar wasn't exactly the ideal planet to set up camp on. Four days had passed, and already some of the clones were dropping like flies. Deadly spores of bacteria teemed in the planet's air, what the natives called _fi'vas_, and the vaccines were rather a hit-and-miss method of protection. Between the potential for illness, the heat exhaustion, and the physical drain of trying to survive in such harsh terrain, Obi-Wan counted himself lucky to be able to walk.

"According to reports, we're overdue for a storm."

Mace Windu always did have an unfortunate habit of sneaking up on people. It took Obi-Wan a moment to leash in the instinct to reach for his lightsaber and process the situation. "There was a monsoon the day before we arrived," he pointed out.

"Yes, well." Mace's dark eyes were inscrutable, but his harsh line of a mouth bespoke too much weariness. "Maybe we're just lucky."

"Damn this planet. Only Separatists would set up an encampment here." They had, or so their intelligence reports indicated. Obi-Wan was not ready to entertain the idea of a mistake.

"If a storm hits, our resources won't hold for long," Mace said.

They walked on together, dodging tree limbs and unidentified brambles. Each silently contemplated the costs of having to pick up and leave, to come back with more troops and begin the search anew. Time was precious, and they had little of it to start with.

"Do you suppose we're any closer to finding the location of their camp?" Obi-Wan asked.

"They're probably closer to finding the location of ours. Our scouts don't function well in this environment. They've had time to acclimate and make modifications to their tracking equipment."

"Like finding a needle in a haystack," Obi-Wan muttered, swatting at some bug or other that tried to land on his cheek. "With your hands tied behind your back."

"Fortunately," Mace began, waving a huge fallen tree branch out of their path with a casual flick of his hand, "we have the Force to guide us. They do not."

"All the same, I'd feel a lot better if we were on a less volatile planet."

Just steps away from the clearing of their camp, both men paused at the outskirts and waited for clones strategically placed in perimeter of trees to grant them access via the comlink.

Mace chuckled, the sound raspy in his throat, and folded his arms over his chest. His cloak hid the shape of his muscled torso, giving him the look of a child playing dress-up in too-large clothes. Obi-Wan wasn't wearing his outer cloak; it was just too hot to wear more layers than absolutely necessary. "I always forget most of us do not have the physiology of a man born of Haruun Kal. My people were built for this type of planet."

Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. "You were bred for things far different than I, Master Windu."

"Hmm, yes. Things higher off the ground, I suppose."

The static of a comlink sounded, signaling them inside the camp. Mace strode forward without another word, leaving Obi-Wan to stare at his back, trying to figure out of Mace Windu truly just made a _joke_.

---

Meals on Drongar weren't altogether much different from a meal on any other planet, but the food was distinctly brackish from being stored in such humidity. Obi-Wan, Mace, Cody, and another clone whose name Obi-Wan didn't recall all ate together in one medium-sized tent, pushing dust-corn bread around on plates and dithering at cold soup with worn spoons. They all spoke of the newest findings from scouts or droids, estimating how many troops to send forward, and if they needed to call for backup when the time came for battle.

"It is a shame we've lost so many to sickness, Commander, but we can't let the numbers deter us," Mace said.

It was still strange to see Jango Fett's face just across from him and feel no sense of danger and to even regard his clones as comrades. "I'm afraid that after a storm our numbers will dwindle even further. If we do find the Separatist's location, there will not be enough of us to overtake them."

"We don't need to overtake them. We need to break in and dismantle their communications system. That is our foremost objective."

Identical foreheads furrowed in confusion. The one of the left--Obi-Wan was too tired to recall his identity, knowing only that it wasn't Cody--spoke for the pair of them. "Sir, I thought we were meant to eliminate the threat. That is what was directed at the Jedi Temple."

"By effectively cutting them off from their command center, and by stopping their calls for assistance, we put them at a disadvantage. After that, Master Kenobi and I will try our hand at negotiation."

Obi-Wan leaned forward, smiling a little. "I think he means interrogation." Neither of the clones reacted, but Mace did send him a warning glance. It seemed Anakin's inappropriate sense of humor had rubbed off on him a little.

"If the negotiation fails, sir?" Cody asked.

Mace shrugged. Glinting light from the mounted lanterns bounced off of his bare, dark face, nearly masking the tense expression he wore. "In the event we fail, their camp will be rigged with explosives."

The clone on the left nodded. Such a task was not unheard of; indeed, most higher-ranked troops had carried out orders that were, in comparison, even more grisly. "Understood, sir. If that will be all?"

"Yes."

The two stood up in tandem, saluted, and left the tent. Mace stood a moment later, adjusting his robes across his shoulders and once again wiping the perspiration from his face. Obi-Wan pushed his plate away, hardly touched as he didn't have much have an appetite lately, and moved to stand with Mace at the other end of the table. The other Master clearly had something to say, if he was hanging back to speak with Obi-Wan in privacy.

"What do you make of the situation?" Mace asked. "Do you think we will manage to overtake their camp without more troops?"

"I think we will accomplish what we must with what we have. It is wasteful to send for more clones. The Republic can hardly spare them, and we might find the Separatist camp tomorrow. What good then?"

"We must trust in the Force," Mace said gravely, after a moment of contemplation. "I will meditate on this to see if I can't find another angle of the situation."

"I'm afraid I'm late for a good session with a sonic shower," Obi-Wan said, readily dismissing talk of their mission and its difficulties. "I feel as though I'm going to melt in this heat."

Mace held open the flaps for Obi-Wan as he passed through. Obi-Wan scarcely had to duck the roof, but Mace had to stoop low in order to avoid it. "Have you heard how Skywalker is faring on his mission?" Mace asked, seemingly escorting Obi-Wan to the 'fresher tent.

"Last I heard, Anakin was making steady progress. He should return to Coruscant on schedule."

"This is his second solo mission," Mace noted. "I admit I wondered how the Skywalker-Kenobi duo would fare when split up."

"He seems to be taking the responsibility well. At least now there is no possibility that one of us may need to rescue the other." A wry, fleeting smile passed over Obi-Wan's face at the thought. He missed Anakin, missed their easy camaraderie and the shared history. His presence would have made the hard stay on Drongar a bit easier to bear.

The 'fresher was empty of clones, being reserved for the two Jedi at camp. Obi-Wan flicked on the lights and stood in the threshold, facing Mace, who stood outside.

"Enjoy your shower."

---

The sonic shower was incredibly relaxing. Obi-Wan didn't even mind the layers of dirt and dead skin that sloughed off his skin from the cleansing, removing along with it the feeling of dinginess. He spent as long as he could reason inside the shower, wishing idly that it was water instead, and eventually shut it off and redressed in loose sleep robes set out for him.

Carrying his regular robes over his forearm, Obi-Wan exited the refresher unit and was about to head for his tent when thunder sounded, shaking the ground where Obi-Wan stood. Electric purple lightning followed a few moments later, hitting somewhere far off in the distance, above the treeline--and then, rain. It fell in strong, fat droplets, propelling downwards so fast it seemed to come in sideways. Sighing, Obi-Wan shielded his eyes from the rain and trekked on, resigned to the fact that he'd be sleeping in somewhat muddied clothing.

He was not more than twenty paces away from his tent, stationed at the east end of the camp, when another bolt of purple lightning followed thunder in quick succession.

And blew his tent, along with two on either side of it, to smithereens.

The strength of the bolt hitting fabric, metal, and then ground caught Obi-Wan entirely unaware. He tumbled back at least two yards, only able to stop the momentum with a great pull from the Force. Feeling a fragment of white-hot metal fly just past his face, he barely registered when the close heat of it singed the skin of his cheek.

Clones rushed out of their tents, from their watch stations, and even some from the perimeter of trees, their blasters drawn, no doubt all anticipating battle. They took one look at Obi-Wan's smoldering tent--or rather, the ashes of his tent--and started shouting. They seemed not to care for the destroyed tents of their clone brethren, Obi-Wan noted queasily, but then, clones were considered expendable. Jedi Masters were not.

"Sir!" A clone still wearing his nightshirt rushed over and grabbed Obi-Wan's arm, checking him over for injuries. Aside from the burn on his cheek and a ringing in his ears, he was otherwise fine--a little shaken, but fine. "Sir, come with me. We've got to get you to safety." Rain drops collected in the clone's dark hair, then dripped into his eyelashes, probably obscuring his vision.

"I'm--fine. We are not under attack. It was a bolt of lightning that hit."

"Even so, sir. It's not safe outside during an electrical storm."

Obi-Wan, though quickly recovering, was still too shaken to mention that the tents were no safer, but he supposed he might catch ill. He hesitated for a moment, regarding the blackened mess that used to be three lodging tents with saddened eyes. Drongar was death, biding its time.

---

Mace Windu woke from his sleep the moment lightning struck the three tents. A disturbance in the Force. A warning, really, of an extremely close call, and it pulsed through his veins. He was up and outside of his tent, throwing his cloak over his nighttime garments, before the first clones even responded.

"Have Kenobi taken to medical." Mace barked orders at some fully outfitted clones; their answers sounded mechanical, distant underneath the helmets.

When Mace arrived, Kenobi was sitting stiffly atop a metal examination table. A spidery-looking droid hovered nearby, pasting some sort of compound over a burn on his face. "I am glad you are unharmed," Mace said, taking a seat to Kenobi's right. "Did you lose anything… valuable in the tent?"

Kenobi shook his head and patted the pile of regular robes placed next to him on the table. "I keep my lightsaber with me always. Cody has charge of the plans, and I only brought a comlink and another change of clothes." CC-2224, or Clone Commander Cody, as Skywalker and Kenobi often preferred, was stationed at camp and in no relative danger. He was the best choice to carry the notes and logs, other than Kenobi or Mace himself.

Once the droid was finished patching Kenobi up, Mace dismissed him. He bid his time, debating what to say; Yoda was best at calm during times of crisis. Mace was a man for meditation and control, not counsel. Eventually he offered, "We must find you somewhere else to sleep."

Kenobi sighed. "There are no clone-issue tents with room enough to take me." At Mace's questioning look, he explained. "I checked when we heard rumors of people stranded nearby. The Republic manufactures supplies for efficiency above all else, grouping in even numbers. I am…" he took a shaky, almost laughing breath, "the odd man out, it seems."

Mace tilted his head, frowning. "Surely arrangements can be made--"

"I am not going to deprive a soldier of his bed, Master Windu." Exhaustion and a fresh scare made Kenobi's voice brisk, even harsh.

"We might not have a choice here, Obi-Wan." He used Kenobi's given name softly, purposefully, as an attempt to calm him, to remind him of his whereabouts. "You must have shelter."

"I can…" Kenobi looked around wearily. "Sleep in here, I suppose."

"Absolutely not. You said you did not want to deprive a solider of his bed; we will doubtlessly need these sickbeds as well, when more of the clones fall ill."

"Then where?"

There was only one solution, and Mace had been aware of it throughout. It was not one he particularly relished the idea of, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He would not abandon a Jedi Master, someone he considered a friend inasmuch as he _had_ friends, to sleep outside. "Our--my tent was made larger, in keeping wth rank. You may share it."

"Master Windu--"

"Do not argue the point. It has been decided." He found himself using the same tone that he usually employed to rebuke Skywalker for going off and doing something rash without permission.

Kenobi sighed again and stepped down from the examination table. "Of course."

---

It took quite a long time for Obi-Wan to begin to become comfortable, tucked inside the now closely packed tent. There was a lantern left on, hardly enough to illuminate the shadows outside the tent, but every time Obi-Wan looked over just a little, he could see Mace Windu already asleep on his bedroll.

The Jedi Master's breathing was even and deep, expression tranquil; the overall feeling of calm the man emanated far surpassed even that of meditation. Worry lines often lined his brow and the corners of his mouth while he lost himself in the Force. Seeing him asleep, face unfettered, was almost a shock to Obi-Wan's system.

Seconds, minutes, possibly hours ticked by, and Obi-Wan could not sleep. He wished for a crystal to focus his Force energy, for exhaustion to wholly overtake him, for any distraction from wakefulness. It seemed almost silly, but the night's events rattled him to a point he didn't even want to consider, and now he was sleeping scant inches away from someone he usually found to be quite remote. Not like Anakin; Anakin he knew so well that sharing a room with him was as natural as sleeping alone, if not more so after all the shared time together.

After a while, Obi-Wan found himself staring at Mace. He was tired of thinking, and there was nothing else to look at. He considered the man's profile: a broad face, heavy, dark, and handsome, with a wide nose inherited from the people of his planet. A face no more foreign to Obi-Wan than that of any other male human, but somehow… different. The darkness of Mace's skin seemed outlined by the graze of lantern's light.

He learned nothing from his observation, though he doubted he'd expected to. Frustrated, Obi-Wan rolled over onto his back. He was half-hard inside of his robes and had already considered masturbation as a method of relaxation, but he had no bond with Mace, no easy way to manipulate the other man into staying asleep throughout. The thought was stifling, embarrassing, even if bodily functions were a perfectly accepted part of existence. Obi-Wan spared one last glance at Mace and the lantern winked out with a swish of his hand.

---

Daybreak was not easy to discern during an electrical storm; the sky went from its nighttime clouded, deep indigo to a murky gray, and the sun could not be seen through the clouds. Rain pounded the outside of Obi-Wan's--Mace's--tent, keeping up its steady rhythm from the night before. Thunder and lightning had not abated, and the natives said these storms were due to stay for at least four days. The ground was well on its way to becoming a lake, almost impossible to tread through. Clones used modified air speeders to patrol the camp and its outskirts, but all scouting teams had been called back on account of the risk and weather compromised comlinks.

Mace was already gone from the tent when Obi-Wan arose. He dressed quickly and remembered to put on his outer cloak, already dreading the mud sure to stain his robes. There was no one milling about, so Obi-Wan followed Mace's Force pull to a tent used to house their communications equipment.

"Many of the reconnaissance clones have not returned," Mace said, not evening turning around to face him.

"That is unfortunate." It truly was. Their numbers could not afford to dwindle any further; they were already precariously low.

"I was thinking of deploying a search party."

This was, however, a surprise. "Why?"

Mace turned around but still did not look at Obi-Wan, choosing instead to study a datapad he held. "Before we lost contact, a few scouts reported suspicious activity in a section our spies believe the Separatists inhabit." He paused, flicking his piceous eyes to Obi-Wan's. "They are still alive."

"If we find them, we find the Separatists," he surmised.

"Exactly."

"But…" Obi-Wan considered what the search would entail, in the middle of an electrical storm. "It's nearly impossible to find them in this hell. Our tracking system is offline, comlinks aren't reliable fifty meters outside of camp, and after you reach the forest they cease to work completely--"

"We will have to use the Force."

"We?" The sound of Obi-Wan's incredulousness seemed to linger in the silence of the tent. Outside, the rain hammered on.

"Between the two of us, we will be able to find the missing clones."

"I don't suppose you're suggesting we split up in our efforts?"

Mace paused, setting the datapad down on a metal table to his right. "No," he said. "I'm suggesting we bring half of our troops and use the Force to guide us."

"Do we _walk_?" More evidence of too much time spent with Anakin; he was spitting thinly veiled sarcasm when he felt pushed into a situation he didn't like. It was no small wonder, though, between the unbearable planet, his lack of sleep, the odd newness of being on a mission without Anakin at his side, and the dangerous mission Mace was proposing, that Obi-Wan felt slightly frayed.

Mace didn't buy it. He stared him down until Obi-Wan looked away. "No. We do not _walk_."

Obi-Wan nodded, resigned. Mace may have been his peer in that they shared status on the Council, but the man had rank where it counted: with Yoda, and also with Obi-Wan himself. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as I can organize it. Be prepared shortly after lunch."

---

Forty minutes into the search, Obi-Wan was already on the verge of passing out. He tried to let his exhaustion go, visualizing it disappearing into the Force, but it scarcely seemed to help. Beside him in the enclosed landspeeder, Mace scrutinized his datapad and various scanners, frowning when they failed to give him accurate readings or shut down completely.

"I am afraid I may be catching ill," Obi-Wan confessed, wiping sweat and precipitation from his brow.

"I brought along a medical droid if it gets bad," Mace replied. "I need your help, Obi-Wan."

"This might well be a trap," he said.

"Yes, I know. It probably is."

Most of these missions were in some way rigged. It was a miracle of the Force that Obi-Wan had lived this long, particularly when considering who he kept company with.

---

The final coordinates the clones were able to send back to camp yielded nothing. The pouring rain had washed away any footprints that might have been present. Obi-Wan tried in vain to sense their impressions on the area through the Force, but his head felt clogged, totally distancing his mental skill from his instinctual awareness of the Force. He couldn't process or locate any of the impressions he received, and turned to Mace with an expression of defeat. "Nothing, I'm sorry."

Mace was deep in thought, eyes closed. He seemed not to even notice the downpour as it plastered his sopping robes to his skin. Obi-Wan envied him the oblivion—every spray that penetrated his hood, every gust of wind made him shiver. He was definitely ill, and his only hope was that it was the flu instead of a deadly bacterial infection. "Many hours ago," Mace concluded softly, opening his eyes and blinking at the forest surrounding them. "At least… eight. I believe most of them are alive."

"Do you know what direction they headed to?"

"The same direction we're headed: east."

---

Six hours in, Obi-Wan was nearly delirious and trying desperately to hide it. They were close--even in this state he could feel it--and he couldn't afford to stall them. He closed his eyes and sat back in the landspeeder, leaving the navigation and Force-tracking up to Mace.

Unfortunately, his powers of disguise were shoddy when he was trying to fool a Jedi like Mace Windu. He kept glancing over, his mouth tightened into a grim line. "You really should be treated, Obi-Wan."

"I will be, after this is over with."

"I need you in fighting condition. You and I both know we have no chance of overtaking them with this number of troops; two Jedi might give us a chance, but just one? You can't even defend yourself from an attack in this state."

"I think you underestimate me."

"I think you underestimate this planet," Mace shot back. "If we were on Coruscant, you would be under careful watch with the medical droids or in a bacta tank--"

"We are _not_ at the Temple," Obi-Wan interrupted wearily. "We are on Drongar, and we are at war. We don't have time to heal me."

Mace was silent for a moment, jaw clenched as he checked their rate of propulsion. He adjusted the gears and Obi-Wan felt a slight tug in the engines as speed increased. Eventually he spoke, "We can't afford to put a Jedi in such danger. You can't be allowed to fight." He brought his comlink to mouth-level and checked to see if it was working. It wasn't. Clearly irritated, Mace slipped it back into his robes and punched in something on his datapad. "I'm sending you back to camp."

"No--"

"This is not up for discussion. If you come with us, you die. I am not losing one of the most well known figures of the Republic to a futile battle on an insignificant planet." He pushed a series of buttons and adjusted a gear; the speeder veered to the right and started to slow. Several clones on airspeeders shifted their positions in order to follow. When it stalled to a halt, Mace deactivated the windshield and climbed out of the cockpit. He waved a distracted hand and it closed shut again, safely enclosing an annoyed Obi-Wan.

Mace spoke to the clone briefly, then turned around and headed for another speeder Obi-Wan knew carried supplies and the perfunctory trio of medical droids. Obi-Wan resigned himself to whatever might happened and sat back against his seat, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. He didn't have to wait long for Mace to return, a droid in tow.

---

"Status?" Mace asked the droid. It buzzed near Obi-Wan's head, a thick needle protruding from one of its four arms, a scanner attached to another. All in all, it was extremely crowded inside of the speeder.

"Patient is infected. Cause is bacterial."

Mace's expression did not change. Obi-Wan tried not to think. "And his prognosis?"

The droid continue to buzz, drifting in front of and obscuring Obi-Wan's line of sight. "Potentially fatal."

Obi-Wan felt his stomach drop.

"What do we need to do?"

---

"I am trying to establish communication with camp," Mace was saying. Obi-Wan was doing his best not to tune the man out, but his head was spinning and his heart pounded. Even his breathing was labored. "I will give the order for your evacuation once we get within range. There should be a ship within the next few hours."

"There's not enough time," Obi-Wan sighed. Instantly his lungs protested and he started to cough, lurching forward in his seat. It took a while for the coughing to stop. "And now that you're headed back with me, the clones won't have a chance against the Separatist droids."

"Clones are not the priority. You are."

The landspeeder went at top speed, crossing the forest so swiftly that everything turned to a brown and green blur. Obi-Wan pulled his cloak tighter against his body and tried to stifle another bout of coughing.

---

His first reaction upon reaching camp was disbelief. It looked as though lightning had taken out each and every tent, and several were still aflame. There was no sign of the troops left behind. Only medical was spared, probably because its metal construction did not lend well to burning.

"Droids," Mace growled, striding towards the remaining building, half carrying Obi-Wan along. "They must have attacked after we left." He cursed under his breath and adjusted his grip on Obi-Wan's waist.

The interior took little damage; droids weren't very adept at ransacking, though there was no sign of any of the ill clones that had been housed in the facility. The real issue was the lack of communications equipment, considering the tent was torched with the rest. Obi-Wan didn't have much energy to consider the extent of their dire situation. Mace maneuvered him to the examination table, helped him seat himself without falling, and turned to check their supplies.

Food and water rations were in decent supply. Mace looked through all of the injections, though their uses were over his head, trying to find anything he knew was indicated to treat bacterial infections or congestion of the lungs. He knew the medical droids must have geared the supplies specifically to the planet's inherent perils, but he couldn't determine where they were stored. It was possible the droids were ordered to take the treatments back to the Separatists; it was valuable and in short supply.

He was almost out of places to look when he opened a drawer and at least fifty bottles of the same reddish fluid rattled at the disturbance. Mace vaguely recalled the same color being injected via the droid's syringe into a score of clones--_infected_ clones. His face softened imperceptibly as he reached for a syringe.

---

Obi-Wan's symptoms didn't appear to be abating. In fact, as the treatment worked its way through his bloodstream, he began to feel worse and broke out into a chilly sweat. His face was drained of color, his eyes were glossy, and he had coughed himself raw.

"You should try and get some sleep." Mace's voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. Obi-Wan looked up and squinted against the harsh bright lights. Mace's dark head swam into focus, the light creating a harsh halo around him. "The treatment needs time to work, and we need you rested in case the droids come back."

"Any--word--from the clones?" he panted.

"None."

Obi-Wan nodded and closed his eyes. Mace Windu's tense expression was the last thing he saw before slipping into a vast unconsciousness.

---

How long he slept, he could not say. It could have been hours or days. He was dimly aware of having been jarred into half-consciousness a few times before. Mace at one point administered more of the treatment--colors exploded behind his eyelids as he closed them against endlessly harsh lights, the murmuring tone of Mace's voice. He wondered if he'd been fed, if Mace had made contact with Coruscant or a nearby Republic spacecraft. He wondered if he was going to die on Drongar.

The rain hadn't stopped. It seemed unbelievably loud as it pounded on the tinny roof. When he gathered enough strength to turn his head, Obi-Wan made out Mace's form, asleep on a nearby examination table.

His throat and chest felt tight and sore, aching from the excessive coughing and the need to cough still. He tried to keep silent, muffling it with his hand and shallow breaths, but the other man awoke anyway. He did not seem disturbed or out of sorts, swinging his long legs over the side of the table and crossing the few feet to Obi-Wan.

"You're doing better today," he noted, voice gruff from sleep. "You should be able to last."

"That's a--relief." The coughing was starting to slow, and it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before, but he still felt deathly ill.

"I have tried contacting Yoda," he went on to explain, sitting on the table near Obi-Wan's feet. "I am not certain, but I am fairly sure he received my message through the Force. We should be rescued shortly." He paused, looking Obi-Wan over. "Do you need anything?"

"Water."

"Of course." He stood and went for some, bringing it back in a small canteen. "Drink slowly, otherwise you'll exacerbate your throat."

He followed advice and sipped slowly. The water, though tepid, felt wonderful as it whetted his tongue. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked between sips.

"Three days. You were restless throughout, talking in your sleep." Something in Mace's eyes changed, flickering for only a moment. "I am sure that has passed now."

"Well, that's good."

"I am going back to sleep now, wake me if you need anything or if the ship arrives."

"Of course."

---

Kenobi actually fell asleep first. Mace found himself unable to relax, instead lying awake and staring at the ceiling. He listened to Kenobi's raspy breathing and tried to forget about the hell of the last few days.

It was a strange time, living mostly alone on what felt like a deserted planet. No clones returned from the Separatists camp, no news from Coruscant. Just endless hours to watch over a feverishly ill man, administering the treatment when he felt the spike of rejection from the last dose wore off. He hardly slept and he had little concentration to meditate.

Kenobi did not truly need much tending during the night, after treatment was over. It was not the need to keep watch that kept him awake, but the rambling speeches and stifled noises he made in the throes of restless dreams. The first night he was alarmed by Kenobi's calling out and could not make himself sleep for fear of Kenobi being in real danger, but the second night… The second night was a different matter entirely.

The blanket Mace had used to cover him rustled as Kenobi stirred, rolling onto his side or repositioning a leg. Then he mumbled something unintelligible--all was silent after. Mace felt himself finally drifting towards sleep when low noises stirred him again.

Kenobi was _moaning_. Whether in fear or pleasure Mace could not tell, but the sounds were unsettling and caused his blood to race. He stayed completely still, half trying to block it out and half listening. His heart rate continued to increase until it felt as if it were shuddering in his chest.

It was not supposed to happen. But it did.

He gritted his teeth and turned over, facing the wall instead of Kenobi. The soft noises continued, verging from outright moans to small whimpers. Despite himself, he started to become hard and sucked in a breath of shock and self-admonishment. Every noise, every shifting whisper of fabric became a jolt to his system.

He refused to allow himself relief. It was… disgusting, at odds with what he knew of himself within the Force. Previously he'd not given much of a thought to Kenobi's appearance or sexual disposition, but now he was fighting the urge to consume himself with thinking of it.

His duty, his debt to Kenobi as a life form, as a man, and as a Jedi was all that kept him from slipping into the Force wholly, abandoning reality and its traitorous thoughts.

It continued every night until he nearly felt insane. Kenobi seemed to sense his unease at night and steadily grew even more restless, sometimes groaning ceaselessly for minutes on end. Mace often felt like he was falling headfirst into an abyss.

Then suddenly Kenobi awoke on the third night, hopefully for good. He was visibly improving, and although he fell back to sleep within minutes, Mace was not worried. Mace listened as Kenobi for the first time slept deeply, silently.

Still, Mace could not sleep.

---

The ship came while both of them were sleeping. The sound of men sloshing through the swampy camp was what woke Obi-Wan. He rolled over and tried to pull himself up to a sitting position on the table, but his head throbbed with a rush of too much blood.

"Mace," he whispered. His throat did not immediately burn in protest, so he tried again. "Mace?"

"I'm awake. What is it?"

"I heard noises from inside the camp." Wincing, he had a thought. "It could be an attack."

A pause. "It's not. It's a ship."

Obi-Wan breathed a silent sigh of relief, at last allowing himself to believe they might make it off of the planet alive. "I suppose our luck really _hasn't_ worn off yet, has it?"

---

Clones from a nearby system had been dispatched by Yoda for their rescue. Mace watched as one escorted Kenobi up the loading dock and into the ship, white-clad arm wound securely around his waist. Kenobi limped heavily and moved at an impossibly slow speed. Mace found it strange to watch his hindered progress, his vulnerability showing through.

He waited until Kenobi was inside the ship, and then… He didn't know what. His body felt like it belonged to someone else--in all of his life, his awareness of his physical being within the Force was something he could trust and had control of. It was a strange feeling. Perhaps he was on the verge of collapse and simply couldn't feel it, he reasoned. Perhaps.

As he boarded, Mace wondered how he was going to try and log all that had happened during the storm. There was not room enough for the jungle's _fiv'as._

-----

Fin.


End file.
